








3 



new yof^k: 

National Temperance Society and Publication Nome, 

58 K e a \> e Street. 




NEW TEMPERANCE TALES. 


ONLY TEN CENTS EACH. 

H 

FIFE ARID DRUM SERIES, 

The National Temperance Society has commenced the publication 01 
a series of cheap and thrilling Temperance Tales, and from the pens oi 
some of the best writers on Temperance in the world, giving a greater 
amount of valuable and interesting matter than ever before, for the small 
sum of io cents. The object is to supply a great amount of matter calcu- 
lated to aid the advancement of the cause of Temperance, for a very small 
sum of money. The following have already been published. 

FIFE AND DRUM. 

By MAUV D WIN ELI. ( HKLLSS. 12ino, 79 Pane*. 

This is a new and thrilling story, with an excellent spirit and moral in- 
struction, from the pen of this well-known and brilliant w-riter. 

A TRAGEDY OF THE SEA. 

By MRS. J. McN AIR WRIGHT. 12mo, 72 Pages. 

One of the most thrilling Temperance Tales ever published, and worth 
ten times its price. 

THE QUAKER’S RUDE. 

’ By ERNEST GILMORE. 12iuo, 72 Page*. 

This new work is fully equal to the other writings of this talented author, 
and is worthy of a place in every farnilv. 

DRINKING JACI Stories. 

By MARY OUTSELL Oil Ef'-Ltis. 2ino, 72 Pasre*. 

This popular author has few equals, and these stories ait amc.. & best 

A WOMAN’S WAY. 

Ry MRS. E. J. RICHMOND. 12mo, 72 Pages. 

A new and pleasing story by this popular author. 

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By MARY OWINELL < HELLIS. 12mo, 72 Pages. 

\otiher Stirling Tale for this popular series. 

A JODDY TIME. 

By MARY OWINELL CUELLIS. 12iuo, 77 Pages. 

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A BOTTDE. 

Ry REV. R. F. HUTCHINS. I2m»>. 72 Pages. 

'1 he friends of Temperance who desire to see the reform progress, and 
to have a literature accessible to all classes of the community, have now 
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cause to aid us in the circulation of this class of literature. Send along the 
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J. N. STEARNS, Publishing Agent, 

58 Reade Street, New York. 


THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


OF A 

BOTTLE. 


BY 


Rev. B. F. HUTCHINS. 


AND 


THE GIRT SHOP. 

ILLUSTRATED BY 

GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. 


r 




NEW YORK : 

National Temperance Society and Publication House, 

58 EEADE STREET. 


•• 





COPYRIGHT, 1883, BY 

The National Temperance Society and Publication House, 


*• 



' < 


Edward O. Jenkins, 

Printer and Stereotyper, 

W Worth William Strtti, Ntw York. 



4 ^ 

THE 

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A BOTTLE. 


CHAPTER I. 

MY BIRTHPLACE. 

I KNOW you will at once say, “ How can a bottle 
talk, and how can glass think and write ? ” But, 
dear ' readers, my life has been so very wonderful, 
that unless I note my experience, some people will 
never understand the sorrows and trials of a poor 
old black bottle. Therefore, while you read these 
pages, you must imagine that I am a thinking and 
a talking bottle, and have ^:he other natural in- 
stincts and senses which belong to yourselves. 

I was born in one of the most singular houses 
you ever saw, and my life has been equally as 
strange and eventful. I have experienced little of 
the pleasures of this world, but have tasted of its 
bitterness and sorrow in every one of its dark 
phases. 


( 3 ) 


4 


The Autobiography of a Bottle. 


My birthplace was in the outskirts of a large and 
busy city, and the house in which I was born was 
octagonal in shape, and built of stone. In this 
house were ten large furnaces that were kept burn- 
ing brightly day and night. A hundred men were 
kept constantly busy during these twenty-four 
hours forming melted glass into bottles of every 
shape and size. 

The first thing that I remember of my existence 
was lying on a cold, damp floor, and around me 
were hundreds of similar beings, yet of different 
shape and size. I have often wondered whether 
one of them experienced what I did, and if so I 
wonder if their existence proved as long as mine. 

When I heard the names of my companions call- 
ed, I was confused and yet amused at them. There 
were whisky-bottles, rum-bottles, medicine-bottles, 
soda-water and ginger-pop bottles. It was a long 
time before I was named, and well do I remem- 
ber how impatiently I waited for the announce- 
ment of that event. 

Everything spoke of activity in our house. There 
were the large blazing furnaces, the melted glass, 
the hurry and bustle of the men, the removal of the 
bottles, and the breaking of many. Each one of 
us was carefully examined to see if we were able to 


My Birthplace. 


5 


withstand the hardships of the world. Oh, when I 
now look back upon what I endured, I wish that 
the inspector had pronounced me worthless or un- 
sound. But no; I was marked A i, and therefore 
I knew my pedigree was good. After this in- 
spection I was carried into an adjoining room, 
which was called the packing-room. 

Here were immense casks and large piles of 
straw. One hundred and forty-four (or one gross) 
of us were soon carefully packed away in one of 
these casks, hoisted up to another floor, and again 
subject to another long term of impatience. This 
room was entirely different from any of the others. 
It was fully as large, but there were no fires, no 
noise, and the only occupants were these large 
casks. Each of them was plainly marked. The 
cask in which I was placed was marked 



What the W meant I did not understand, but 
A i referred to my character. 

During my abode *in this apartment, we were 
entertained by a great many visitors. They were 
always accompanied by the proprietor of the build- 


6 The Autobiography of a Bottle . 

ing or one of his employes. By their conversation 
I came to the conclusion that these bottles were 
bought, for I often heard them say, “ I will take 
five or ten gross of A i whisky-bottles ; and in a 
short time some of our neighboring casks were 
rolled away. At the approach of every foot- 
step I would lie perfectly quiet and listen to hear 
if my turn had come, when this poor cramped body 
would be released. I hoped that I would be select- 
ed, and then, again, I preferred to remain where I 
was, fearful that a change would be fraught with 
more trouble and uncertainty. 


CHAPTER II. 


SOLD. 

Well do I remember the morning that I bid 
farewell to my birthplace. It was early in the 
morning when I heard the footsteps of my owner, 
followed by the tread of a stranger. As I listened 
to their conversation, I became pleased with this 
new acquaintance, and felt that, if I must be sold, 
he would be as kind a friend as I could have. This 
man seemed liberal, and he said that ajl he wanted 
was a first-class article, and the price was of second- 
ary consideration. This was very different from 
the majority of purchasers. I have listened to a 
few customers who would stand in that cold room 
for half an hour trying to purchase a gross of bot- 
tles for a few cents below the price named. Not 
so, however, with this person. He talked so clev- 
erly, laughed so merrily, and bought so promptly, 
that I was really anxious to become his property. 
I was not long in this suspense, for presently I 
heard him say, “ Now 1 want one gross A x whisky- 

( 7 ) 


8 The Autobiography of a Bottle . 

bottles.” My owner came at once to the cask in 
which I was hid, and said, “ Here’s your article, 
and no mistake.” Then I knew I was sold ; but 
what of the great future ? 

It was at this moment that I first learned my full 
name. Yes, it was Mr. Whisky Bottle. It is true 
that at this time I had no idea what whisky meant, 
but this ignorance did not last long. I soon learn- 
ed its nature, and its curse. 

The cask was soon lowered to the ground-floor, 
and rolled over and over again until it was lifted 
into a wagon. I really thought that my sides 
would break, or my neck become dislocated. Over 
the stony pavements of the great city I was whirled, 
and finally was landed in front of a large four- 
story brown-stone building, upon which “ Wines 
and Liquors” were lettered in every conspicuous 
place. 

The head of the cask was soon removed, and 
again, I saw the light of day. One by one, this 
family consisting of one hundred and forty-four 
bottles were carefully taken out, and placed in an 
upright position directly in front of a large tub 
filled with water. Each one of us was carefully 
washed. It was my first bath, but as the sequel 
will show, I was seldom dry after this. 


Sold. 


9 


After being washed I had an opportunity to 
glance around and take a hasty view of my new 
quarters. I then learned that I was to be an in- 
mate of a wholesale liquor-house. The room that 
I was temporarily to occupy was large and well- 
lighted. It was filled with casks and barrels, all 
bearing different names. Among them were Rum, 
Gin, Brandy, Wines with a dozen Christian names, 
and a great many marked Whisky. For some time 
I wondered if those marked whisky were any re- 
lation to me. It was but a few moments before I 
found out that our relations were most intimate. 

As soon as our little family were all clearly 
washed and made dry, we were placed along a 
large whisky-cask, and in an hour every one of us 
was filled with a sort of yellowish liquid, the smell 
of which was anything but agreeable. Corks were 
then driven into our mouths, and upon our bright 
faces was placed a handsome label of blue and 
gold, bearing the unmistakable fact that we con- 
tained “ Pure Old Bourbon Whisky.” Now I learned 
my full name, and how thankful I was to know that 
my new owner considered me “ pure.” We were 
carefully instructed to stand erect on a shelf, in a 
conspicuous position, where otir bright faces and 
gilded names could be seen by all who entered the 
store. 


CHAPTER III. 


NEW FACES. 

The name of my new owner was Mr. Strong, 
and he proved to be a good-natured man of about 
sixty years of age. He employed several young 
men in his establishment which I soon learned was 
of large proportions. Among the clerks was one 
whom I learned to love with true affection. His 
name was Edward, and he was the only son of the 
proprietor. He seemed to be the life of the con- 
cern, always quick in his business relations, and he 
seemed to be the confidential clerk of the house. 
He was not more than twenty years of age, with a 
handsome and intelligent face. He was a general 
favorite in the store, and many of the customers 
inquired for Ned when they made their purchases. 
He always had a pleasant welcome for all, and was 
remarkably quick in effecting a sale. My attach- 
ment for him increased each day, and I was always 
uneasy whenever he did not make his appearance. 

Frequently during the day, Ned went to the 
(io) 


New Faces . 


II 


cask from which I was filled, and drawing a small 
quantity of “pure old bourbon,” drank it with such 
keen relish, that it made me feel as if I contained 
that nectar which gave continual joy and happi- 
ness. Frequently he would invite his friends to 
join him in a drink. Little did I know at this 
time, that my poor body was filled with the surest 
poison, and that I held the keenest weapon which 
brings misery and wretchedness, despair and death, 
to not only individuals, but to families and house- 
holds. On one occasion I heard his father tell him 
that “he was afraid he was drinking a little too 
much, and advised him to abstain for a while, as 
his conduct was worrying his mother.” 

I could not but think that it was strange that the 
young man should be reproved for drinking any- 
thing that was “pure” especially as it was cared 
for and sold by his father. If it was wrong for the 
son to drink it, was it not far more censurable for 
the father to sell it ? 

Ever after these words of warning, I had feelings 
of regret and sorrow whenever I saw my friend put 
the glass to his lips, and I knew after this, that the 
liquid I contained was anything but pleasant and 
healthful. I frequently wished that my little frail 
body would break, and that every particle <?f the 


12 The Autobiography of a Bottle. 

whisky would be destroyed. In fact I often made 
the exertion to jar myself against my neighbors, 
thinking that if I should crack, I would do no in- 
jury to any one except myself. But I was not suc- 
cessful in this suicidal attempt, and soon learned 
that my future life was to be an exciting and an 
eventful one. 

During my stay at Mr. Strong’s, there was one 
little incident that occurred which made a marked 
impression on my mind, but one which I have since 
learned is of frequent occurrence among that class 
of persons which the world calls “ gay ” or “ fast.” 
It happened in this way : 

One morning during the month of January, when 
the snow was lying thick and solid on the ground, 
and the sleighing promised excellent, a young man 
entered the store, and coming to the back part of 
it said, “ Ned, I have engaged that pair of fast bays, 
and I want you to go out on the road with me this 
afternoon, and, coming home, we will stop at 
Sportsman’s Hall and attend the ball.” 

“All right,” said Ned, “ I’ll be on hand.” 

“ By the way,” said Charlie (for this was his 
name) “don’t forget to bring along a bottle of 
good old Bourbon.” 

“ No, I’ll fix that now,” said Ned ; and coming 


New Faces. 


directly to me, he took me from the shelf, and 
rolled me up in a piece of brown paper, and giving 
me to Charlie, said, “You take care of that.” 

In order to keep me warm, as I supposed, he 
placed me in his pocket, and proceeded to his place 
of business, where the coat was hung up, with my 
little head just peeping from his pocket. For 
three hours I remained here listening to business 
matters, anxious for the time to come when I 
should be with my old friend. 


CHAPTER IV. 


A S L E I G H-R I D E. 

About noon Charlie came to me, and taking me 
^ from his pocket, drew the cork and said, “ I believe 
I will try and see what stuff you are made of.” 
He took a good drink of the whisky, smacked his 
lips, and said, “ Good enough for a prince.” With 
such a compliment, I was replaced in the pocket, 
where I remained until about three o’clock in 
the afternoon, when I saw Charlie go to a great 
iron safe, open the doors, and take therefrom 
four or five large yellow pieces that I learned were 
money. He then put on his overcoat, felt for 
me, and finding that I was safe, started for the 
stable. 

Soon the horses were harnessed ; robes soft and 
warm were placed in the sleigh, and the word “ go ” 
was given. Well do I remember the merry jingling 
of the bells, and the dashing, spirited horses, as 
they swiftly sped through the streets toward Ed- 
ward’s store. 


A Sleigh-Ride . 


15 


My good friend soon made his appearance, and 
after expressing his satisfaction of the “ turn out,” 
as he called it, said, “ Have you got the bottle all 
right ? ” 

“ Rest assured of that,” replied Charlie. 

We were soon all ready, and away the horses 
started again, full of spirit and life. Both Edward 
and Charlie were in the best of humor, while I 
enjoyed myself by the new and exhilarating scene 
around me. 

Swiftly and smoothly did we glide over the well- 
beaten snow, passing here a party who were out for 
an afternoon’s fun, now racing for half a mile or 
more with another team ; then meeting a party 
bent on the same fun that we were on. And thus 
joyously and merrily flew the moments and the 
hours. 

At last Edward said, “ Suppose we stop at the 
Punch-Bowl and warm up.” 

I was not cold, and therefore could not under- 
stand what caused my friends to be chilled. We 
soon stopped in front of a large brick building and 
entered a room, when Edward and his friend met a 
number of acquaintances. 

The first thing that attracted my attention was 
a long shelf filled with bottles and glasses of differ- 


1 6 The Autobiography of a Bottle. 

en.t shapes and sizes. Those old familiar names, 
Ruiv, Brandy, Gin, and Whisky stared me again 
In the face, and I was soon cognizant of the char- 
acter of the place. Most of the people were calling 
for Bourbon whisky, and I wondered whether it 
was as good an article as I carried, and that bore 
the mark of A i. 

Edward called for whisky, and Charlie said 
“ ditto.” 

I felt a little angry that they did not use me, 
liaving been so particular as to bring me with them. 
They drank, paid for it, and then departed. 

Soon we were on the road, and Edward said, 
“ That’s villainous stuff, suppose we take a drink 
of our own, for I know what that is made of.” I 
was at once brought into requisition, and each 
partook of the “ pure Bourbon.” 

Half an hour of riding brought us to another 
halting- place, and this was called the Retreat. 
Here we stopped again, and at once resorted to a 
room filled with people, each one drinking or 
smoking, while the conversation was loud and 
boisterous. My friends stood before the counter 
treating and being treated for a long time, and 
finally I noticed that Edward’s whole manner was 
changed. His face was flushed, his eyes red, his 


A Sleigh-Ride. 


W 


conversation loud and coarse, and I am pained to 
say that his boisterous remarks were occasionally 
interspersed with oaths. It was at this time that I 
fully learned that the pure liquor that I was carry 
ing about was deadly poison — stuff that ruined 
both body and soul, and brought shame, disgrace, 
and crime to all who indulged in the villainous 
drink. 

It was during this ride that I learned that it did 
not require but a very little whisky to teach men. 
to swear, and but a little more to make men com- 
mit crimes against God and their neighbor. 

It was now dusk, and my friends concluded they 
would go to Sportsman's Hall and attend the ball. 
On this suggestion, a dozen others agreed to go 
also. Two or three other drinks were indulged in, 
and at last a party of ten or twelve, with their fast 
horses and light cutters, started on the road. For 
three or four miles we sped with almost lightning 
pace ; the whip was used, and the entire party were 
shouting and singing and cheering as they rushed 
along the frozen road. I was very much frightened, 
and expected every moment to be dashed in pieces. 
In fact, I did not care much, for I saw that I was 
bringing disgrace and misery to all who came in 
contact with me. 


The Autobiography of a Bottle. 


18 


Faster and faster our horses sped, until we saw 
the bright lights of the hall. We were the first to 
reach the place, but only a few moments elapsed 
before the entire company were standing in front of 
the bar calling for whisky. As the men threw off 
their overcoats, I was carefully inspected to see if I 
was all right. 

In the course of an hour, and after imbibing 
several more drinks, the party proceeded to the 
ball-room. What occurred there I could not say. 
I heard the music, and I heard the loud talk and 
laughter of the dancers. 

It was not long, however, before Edward and 
Charlie returned ; the former saying, “ it was too 
hot for him up there, with all the whisky he had 
aboard.” 

“ But let us have another good drink any how,” 
said Edward, and I was once more pulled out of 
his coat-pocket, and more of the poisonous con- 
tents was consumed by these young men. 

I would have given anything if they had drank 
all I contained, for then I should have known the 
worst ; but this terrible idea that my best friend 
was gradually becoming perfectly unconscious of 
himself was indeed terrible to bear. He was wild, 
vulgar, and profane ; he seemed to invite a quarrel 


. 


A Sleigh-Ride. 


19 


with every one he met ; until finally he became so 
drunk that he threw himself, perfectly exhausted, 
into a chair near the stove. It was not long before 
he was fast asleep ; not that quiet refreshing slumber 
that belongs to the sober, honorable man. Fre- 
quently some old friend would pass him, and 
sneeringly say, “ He’s well laid-out,” “ his father is 
more to blame than Ned is.” 

After awhile, a large burly-looking fellow came 
along, and slapping Edward in the face, said, “Get 
out of here, you drunken loafer, this is no lodging- 
room.” Both Edward and Charles were aroused at 
this insult, and in a moment they were tussling 
with the man. It was a sickening and disgusting 
sight. Chairs and glasses were thrown, and when 
at last the parties were separated, both of my 
friends were covered with blood and dirt ; their 
clothing torn and soiled, and presented more the 
appearance of poor miserable outcasts than any- 
thing else. 

This, however, is no new phase in the life of an 
intemperate man. Oh, no. Whenever a man has 
spent all his money and become so drunk that he 
has no further want of rum, then it is that his pres- 
ence in the gilded saloon, or the lowest alley gin- 
shop, is no longer desired. The poor unfortunate 


20 The Autobiography of a Bottle . 

man is pushed with a kick or a blow, outside, into 
the dark and cold. It is always the case, and my 
every-day life has seen it most painfully illustrated. 

It was now long after midnight, and the poor fel- 
lows made preparations for their homeward journey. 
The quantity of whisky which they had drank al- 
ready produced upon them a stupefying effect, and 
consequently I was again produced for the purpose 
of exciting their lethargic energies, and to drive 
away the humiliating and remorseful feeling that 
was rapidly creeping upon them. Again and again 
did they drink this poison. Oh, I longed for a 
tongue to speak, and a voice with which I could 
plead with them. But no, I was dumb, and must 
be content to be passive and patient until the end. 

It was four o’clock in the morning when we 
reached the stable. Even the hostlers slyly laughed 
at the men when they saw their disgraceful con- 
dition. One said : “ There is a pretty sight for 
what you call high-life, and these are young men 
prominent in society .” 

“ Let us go down to the store, and fix up a little 
before we go home,” said Edward, and thither did 
they stagger. Edward had a key to the store, and 
once within, the fire was made to burn more bright- 
ly, and for an hour they busied themselves in clean- 


21 


A Sleigh-Ride. 

. • 

ing their persons. Finally my friend said, “ Well, 
there is one drink more in the bottle, let us finish 
it and go home. I shall have time enough to take 
a bath, put on clean linen, and change my dress be- 
fore breakfast. The old people won’t know that I 
have been out all night, and if mother should ask 
me how I received these bruises, I can tell her that 
I fell on the icy pavement, and she of course will 
believe her darling boy.” 

I was drained and put aside, and my friends took 
their departure. I was now alone and had time to 
reflect on all that I had seen. Although my ex- 
perience has been varied and always sad, yet I think 
I can truthfully say, that this my first day in the 
outside world, was the saddest of all. How I re- 
flected on my future. What was I to do next ? I 
made up my mind that I could do but little good, 
and the only thought was how much evil was I to 
contribute to the world’s unhappiness? 

While I was considering these things, the porter 
came into the store, and after sweeping it out, came 
to where I was standing, took me in his hand, 
found that I was empty, saw where my position 
was, filled me from the same old cask, then put a 
fresh label on my face, and replaced me beside my 
companions. About ten o’clock that morning Ed- 


22 The Autobiography of a Bottle. 

9 

ward came in looking like a different person from 
when I last saw him. His bruises had been dressed, 
clean clothes supplied the torn and soiled ones, and 
from all appearances no one would have dreamed 
that he had been so recently on a disgraceful de- 
bauch. I have learned that these sprees are judged 
most unfairly by the world. The poor friendless 
and moneyless man may drink one-third as much 
as his rich neighbor, but as he has but one suit of 
clothes, and no particular home where he can be 
made clean and fresh, he is looked upon as a com- 
mon drunkard and lost to all claims of kindness. 
Not so, however, with the young man of means, or 
whose father’s money covers up the son’s excesses. 
He is considered merely fast, and at times indis- 
creet. And this poor bottle knows that until society 
ignores the rich debauchee, it is only helping on the 
terrible curse and crime of intemperance. 

Edward cast his eye up to where I was standing, 
saw that I was also washed and newly dressed, and 
said, “ I am so fearfully nervous, I must brace up a 
little,” and to the cask he went and drank. 


CHAPTER V. 


A NEW HOME. 

I HAD been in Mr. Strong’s establishment nearly 
six months, when on a pleasant morning two or 
three persons came into the store accompanied 
by Edward. After smelling £nd tasting different 
liquors, one of the persons (who was very fashiona- 
bly dressed), said that he wanted a large quantity 
of liquor, and a certain portion of it must be bot- 
tled. Edward went at once to the old cask, which 
never seemed to be exhausted, and said, “ here is 
my first-class whisky ; I have a fine stock on hand, 
and some of the same I have had bottled for family 
or private use and as he said this, he came to 
where I was, and taking me in his hand, displayed 
me to his friend in most pleasing terms. 

“ Well, you know, Ned,” said the customer, “ that 
I am going to open the gayest place in this city, 
and I want nothing around it but what is the very 
best.” Quite a lengthy conversation occurred be- 
tween them, and I heard the fashionably-dressed 

(23) 


24 


The Autobiography of a Bottle. 


man tell Edward “ that all the furniture was to be 
of solid rosewood, that the carpets and window- 
hangings were all imported, that French plate mir- 
rors were to cover the walls, the sideboard was to 
cost a thousand dollars, and the glass and china 
were of the most delicate pattern.” He also said 
that “ none but gentlemen would be admitted, that 
the game was to be fair, and no jobs put up on any 
one who came there,” that he should “ give grand 
dinners at five o’clock each day, and hot suppers at 
eleven o’clock each night,” and finally concluded 
his conversation by ordering a large supply of 
liquors of different kinds, and bidding Edward 
good-bye, he told him “ to be sure and come 
around.” An affirmative reply I heard. 

Of course I did not understand all of this con. 
versation, but what puzzled me the most was in- 
viting Edward “ to come up and see him even if 
he did not play.” Now, my friend was not of a 
dreamy, quiet disposition, and I did not see why 
he could not play as well as others ; but it was not 
long before I found out that this game was only 
a companion to strong drink. I soon learned that 
each went hand in hand, and that but few of the 
players received any profit from the game either in 
health or pocket. 


A New Home. 


25 


During the conversation between Edward and 
his customer the former was holding me tightly in 
his hand, and I was longing for the stranger to 
purchase me. Most certainly did I desire to go to 
that beautiful home where the furniture was so 
rich, and the surroundings so congenial. I thought 
it far more preferable than standing on a shelf all 
the day long. Finally I was selected among the 
great wagon load of bottles to occupy a place in 
the new home ; but oh, how many times did I wish 
myself back on that old shelf, covered with dust, 
and free from doing harm. 

Late in the afternoon I left Mr. Strong’s estab- 
lishment. The journey to my new home was not 
long, neither was it accompanied by any particular 
incident. I remember that I stood perfectly up- 
right as we rattled over the stony pavements. We 
stopped in front of a large brownstone house, 
which resembled a fashionable dwelling. The blinds 
were all shut, and before any one could enter the 
bell must be rung. A colored man answered the 
call, and I was soon carried up-stairs, into a small 
room where I found hundreds of fellow compan- 
ions of all sizes and shapes. I was carefully washed 
and polished, and then removed to a larger room, 
where a person directed me to be placed on the 


26 


The Autobiography of a Bottle. 


side-board. There were several mirrors in this, 
and as I caught a glimpse of myself, I thought I 
was looking remarkably bright. All around me 
were the most delicate glass ware, beautiful decan- 
ters, silver pitchers, goblets and salvers, and small 
gilded, tinkling bells. 

Soon after I took up my position on the side- 
board, the fashionably-dressed man who purchased 
me of Mr. Strong, exclaimed to those around him : 
“ Come let us try my new liquor and see what it 
is.” I was soon brought into use ; the cork was 
removed, some of the contents poured into the 
fine glass tumblers, and after drinking the same, 
the expression came from all, “ capital.” I was 
then placed in rear of the fine ware, but in a posi- 
tion where I could see everything that occurred. 

Let me now describe to you my new quarters. 
The main room was furnished with all the effects 
which wealth could purchase. The carpets were 
bright, soft, and beautiful. On the tinted walls 
hung rare paintings and engravings. The sofas, 
lounges, and the chairs were of the latest style, and 
upholstered with an eye to comfort. A grand 
piano stood in one corner of this room, but I rarely 
saw it used. At the front of the room was a long 
table covered with green cloth, and on this cloth 


A New Home. 


27 


were painted various strange devices. I learned 
that this was called a faro-table. In another part 
of the room was a beautiful wheel which during the 
evening went revolving almost constantly, and this 
I heard called a roulette wheel. There were other 
tables in this and the adjoining rooms, around 
which gathered many persons, and all intent on 
something that attracted them thither. 

The fashionably-dressed man who purchased the 
goods of Edward, explained all these mysterious 
things to a party who came in, and with a signifi- 
cant wink, said that “ he had private rooms up- 
stairs for those gentlemen who do not like to be 
seen playing in public.” When I heard this ex- 
pression, I knew that my new home was a place 
where some people would be ashamed to be seen. 
More drinks were ordered, and I came to the con- 
clusion that where whisky was used, other sins 
and troubles and disgrace followed. 

During the day following a great many people 
visited the place, partook of the hospitality of m) 
proprietor, and praised the place in most compli- 
mentary terms. On one occasion I heard my owner 
say, “Yes, gentlemen, it is undoubtedly the finest 
gambling-house in the country.” Now I said to 
myself, “what is gambling? ” 


28 


The Autobiography of a Bottle. 


It was not long however, before I found out that 
it was one of those great evils that associate them- 
selves with drink. I soon learned that I was in a 
place where money was won and lost, a place where 
many a happy and comfortable home has been 
broken up, and a place where once happy fathers 
and husbands and sons have been ruined forever. 
“Then I am to live in a gambling house I said 
to myself. Oh ! I thought I had seen sufficient mis- 
ery without having the sin of aiding and encourag- 
ing the crime of gambling. And then I felt sad 
that Edward had promised to visit this place, and 
thus add another cup of anguish to his poor moth- 
er’s almost broken heart. Of course I was not 
able to speak against it. I must be content with 
merely looking on, and recording the terrible scenes 
that occurred within my presence. 

The “ opening night ” arrived. At an early hour 
the entire building was illuminated, but I now re- 
member that every shutter and blind was closely 
fastened in order that nothing outside would tell 
of the damning scenes which were going on within. 

The proprietor and his attaches were elegantly 
dressed, and never for a moment lost their pleasant 
smile and hospitable welcome. It is true that each 
new comer was carefully scrutinized, and a man at 


A New Home . 


29 


the outside door was given explicit instructions to 
admit no one whom he suspected “was not all 
right. ” Thus it seems that while the place was 
bright inside, the people who conducted the same 
knew that they were breaking the laws of the city, 
and were in constant fear that their nefarious 
work would be discovered. 

About eleven o’clock the proprietor said, “ Gen- 
tlemen, I will open a little game of faro, and as 
many as feel inclined to play can be accommodated.” 
Several persons present at once drew forth their 
pocket-books, and invested more or less in the 
game. It was not long before all these games were 
going at full blast, and everything spoke of gayety 
and pleasure. The side-board was constantly visit- 
ed by those present, and I was emptied and filled 
several times during the night. 

At one o’clock “supper” was announced, and the 
majority of those present adjourned to the banquet- 
hall, yet a few were so absorbed in the game that they 
preferred to remain and play. The supper was con- 
tinued for two hours, and as the parties returned, 
I could hear them exclaim, “What a grand supper 
that was.” This gambling-house was kept open 
until broad daylight, people coming and de- 
parting every hour. Many would rise from table 


30 The Autobiography of a Bottle. 

having lost all, and a few, (yes, a very few) called 
themselves winners. 

Finally the company all retired, the doors were 
closed, the money counted, and the proprietor pro- 
nounced his “ opening night” a complete success. 

To describe each day’s experience, and each 
night’s debauchery, would require more time and 
space than I am allowed in this little book. I can 
only say that I lived here six long months, and the 
scenes which I here beheld were sufficient to dis- 
gust every honorable man, and to cause the 
stoutest heart to melt. During that time I saw 
more guilt and more misery than I can describe. 
Whisky led men to gamble without limit or fear, 
and this was followed by every form of vice and 
wickedness that can be found in the great cata- 
logue of crime. 

I will only mention a few instances of my life in 
this place, and what occurred in this palace of sin 
is found in every gambling-house of every city. 

The class of persons who frequented this place 
was as different as the many trades and professions 
of every-day life. I have seen the man who was 
elevated by the people to a high and honorable 
place on the bench, and who was supposed to 
judge impartially between right and wrong, a fre- 


A New Home. 


3i 


quent visitor to this place, and a steady and per- 
sistent participant in the games. So intent has 
he been in play that he seemed unmindful of 
everything that was going on around him. He 
would remain until long after midnight, always ex- 
ultant when winning, and bitterly cursing whenever 
he lost. Of course he would occasionally drink, 
for drinking and gambling are always the twin sis- 
ters of vice. Think of such a man, after a night of 
such defilement, presiding in a court of justice, and 
passing sentence on a poor unfortunate, who per- 
haps, was detected in stealing a loaf of bread in 
order to satisfy the gnawings of hunger of himself 
and family. 

I have seen the man who was in the prime of life, 
and who was reputed as one of the moneyed men of 
the city, one whose name frequently appeared in 
the newspapers as the liberal giver, a man who 
made his money easily in a prosperous business, a 
man who had built for himself and family a delight- 
ful home ; one, in fact, who had everything around 
him, that could make his life happy and comfort- 
able, so fascinated with this curse that he forgot 
business, ignored his once proud position*, forsook 
home and loved ones, lost all love for honor and 
virtue, and was finally driven from the gambling 


32 The Autobiography of a Bottle . 

room a mere vagabond and outcast, and at last end- 
ed his days in a drunken fit, uncared for, and al- 
most unmourned. 

I have seen the young man who was enticed into 
this gorgeous den by his friends and companions, 
enter the room with almost fear and trembling, 
ignorant of everything about it, and was so easily 
tempted, and excited by the temporary pleasures, 
that in less than three months he lost his position 
in business, lost the respect of his kind friends, and 
became one of the poor dependents of this den. 

I have seen the old man with tottering steps and 
silvery hair come regularly into this place, as early 
as twelve o’clock in the day, and as he was con- 
sidered a person of great respectability , although of 
slender means, attractive , and a fine conversational- 
ist, he was permitted to remain here during the day 
and evening. When he had money, he would al- 
ways play ; and when he had not he would be per- 
fectly happy in watching others win and lose. He 
was always sure to accept an invitation to drink, 
and these invitations came quite often. I was 
anxious to know who this queer character was, and 
I learned that he was formerly the editor of a promi- 
nent daily newspaper in the city and had repre- 
sented his State in Congress, but first had yielded 


A New Home. 


33 


to strong drink, and finally had spent a large fortune 
at the gambling-table. And now with one foot al- 
most in the grave the old passion for drink and 
cards was as acute as ever. His entire support was 
given by old friends who knew him in his palmy 
days of influence and wealth. 

Another person who was accustomed to visit this 
place deserves mention in this connection. He was 
a man about thirty-five years of age, and was con- 
sidered one of the first physicians in the city ; but 
he became so passionately absorbed with the place 
that he entirely neglected his practice. I well re- 
member one night, that a gentleman hastily entered 
the room, and with a wild entreating look, came to 
the physician and with tears in his eyes besought 
him to come at once to the bedside of his sick wife. 
He offered any sum he might name if he would 
only go for an hour. But, no ! so strongly and 
completely was he bound up in the game, that he 
absolutely refused to go, and angrily protested at 
being disturbed. The stranger departed with a 
most sad and dejected look. The physician arose, 
came to the side-board, and swallowed a large drink 
of brandy, resumed his seat at the table, and went 
on in his play as if nothing had happened. 

I have said in a previous page of this book, that 


34 The Autobiography of a Bottle. 

Edward had promised to visit this place, and I as- 
sure you I anxiously awaited his arrival. This oc- 
curred about a fortnight after the “ opening,” and 
he was welcomed most cordially by “ mine host.” 
After being shown over the building, he came to 
the side-board and recognizing me as I sat smiling 
on the table, drank the health of the proprietor, 
and wished him success in his business. Edward 
did not play this evening, although invited to do so 
by many of his friends present. I was much pleased 
at his determination, and only hoped that he would 
never be induced to gamble. He remained in the 
house several hours, drinking every few moments, 
and finally left in anything but a sober condition. 

The next evening he came again, and also for 
several evenings following. For some time he did 
not play, but watched the game with keen interest, 
always drinking freely from the same poor old black 
bottle. Finally, one night he entered the door, 
and I soon saw that he was under the influence of 
liquor, and I dreaded the conclusion of this visit. 
As was his custom he took two or three drinks, and 
then said he believed he would try his luck. Seat- 
ing himself with the other players, he commenced, 
and for two hours he did not leave the table. When 
he arose he was a winner to a considerable extent. 


A New Home. 


35 


He seemed much elated at his good fortune, but I 
saw the proprietor give a sly wink to one of the 
attach6s, and I knew it was a bait to tempt him to 
play again. From this time forward, this same evil 
influence which had entwined itself around so many 
poor souls, had completely obtained the possession 
of my dear friend, and I knew that he was a ruined 
man. It did not take long to prove my prediction. 
Night after night he came to the rooms, always 
drinking heavily, and always leaving the house a 
loser. He rapidly changed for the worse, and 
finally made no effort to conceal his bloated appear- 
ance. 

His losses were very heavy, and on several occa- 
sions I heard persons advise the proprietor not to 
receiye his money, as he was evidently spending 
that which was not his own. The proprietor re- 
plied with scorn, “ Which was the worse, to buy the 
soul of man by cards, or by rum ” ? I thought if 
Edward’s father could have heard this remark, he 
would at once close his store, and would exert him- 
self to repair the wrong which he had already done 
by the sale of that destroying drug. 

One night Edward was sitting at the table very 
much under the influence of liquor, and gambling 
with more than usual recklessness, when his good 


3 6 The Autobiography of a Bottle. 

father suddenly made his appearance, looking as I 
thought, twenty years older than when I last saw 
him. He seemed bowed down with grief and sor- 
row. Slowly he came to where his son was sitting, 
and placing his hand gently on his shoulder, affec- 
tionately said, “ My son, will you not go home with 
me?” 

Edward at once rose angrily from the table, and 
with a horrible oath refused his father’s request, 
and the latter went away heart-broken and discon- 
solate. Even this sad sight did not affect the 
players, or the proprietors. A sneering remark 
concerning the “ old man’s impudence ” was all 
that was noticed. Most of those around the table 
came to the side-board and there indulged in heavy 
potations of brandy or whisky. This sad scene was 
only one of the many terrible instances which I saw 
while living at this house. 

The cause which led me to leave this place was 
indeed a fitting finale to my wearisome days of 
shame and misery. This occurred after I had been 
here five or six months, during which time the pro- 
prietors had reaped a golden harvest by their crim- 
inal and nefarious ways. 

One night the rooms were more than usually 
crowded with gamblers and spectators, while the 


A New Home . 


3 7 


playing had been remarkably high. Among the 
persons seated at the main table was a tall, well- 
built man, and by his speech and manner I took 
him for a Southerner. He was the heaviest loser 
at the board, and I saw that he was particularly 
suspicious of the person who was dealing the cards. 
Several times high words passed between them, 
and finally the lie was given. In another moment 
I heard the report of a pistol, and then saw the 
Southerner rush from the room. It was at once 
discovered that my owner had been fatally shot. 
He was at once placed on a sofa, and a physician 
summoned, but before they arrived he had expired. 
Those present, with the exception of those who be- 
longed to the house, hastily disappeared. The 
place was closed, and soon stillness reigned over 
this house of gayety, misery, and crime. 

The next day the inquest was held, and the day 
after, a quiet funeral followed. In a few days a 
public announcement was made in the press that 
the furniture and fixtures of this fashionable resort 
would be disposed of at public sale. 


CHAPTER VI. 


AT THE CORNER TAVERN. 

During the few days subsequent to the fatal 
accident which occurred at the gambling-house, we 
were visited by a large number of persons occupy- 
ing every position in life. The liquors that were 
left, were all freely tested, and no one would have 
dreamed that a homicide of such a startling nature 
had been committed within those very walls. A 
great many of the visitors came through mere idle 
curiosity, a few with the intention of purchasing 
this article or that, but all of them expressed their 
wonder at the magnificence of the surroundings. 

The day of the great sale at last came, and most 

of the articles brought good prices. I waited very 
\ 

nervously for my turn to be sold, and watched in- 
tently to discover my new owner. To tell the truth 
I was not pleased with any of the buyers, and ter- 
ribly disappointed was I when I looked upon the 
man who bought me. He was rough and vulgar in 
his expression and manners, and I knew that I was 
( 38 ) 


At the Corner Tavern. 


39 


to go to a place where my treatment would be 
entirely different from my late home, and in all 
probability my sorrows would be largely increased. 

As soon as I was purchased I was hustled with 
dozens of other bottles into a wagon and hastily 
driven to my new home. Home ! did I say ? No, 
it was only one of the many miserable corner grog- 
geries which you see in every city and village. Yes, 
it was my fortune to hereafter live in one of those 
dens where temptation of every known species is 
felt. It was the public taVern, where rum, gin, 
brandy, whisky and beer, were sold during every 
hour of the twenty-four during the entire year. It 
was dealt to the young man just stepping forth in 
the path of dissipation and disgrace, and to the old 
man who was tottering beneath the heavy load of 
intemperance, and who was rapidly marching on to 
a more terrible death and judgment. 

My experience in this corner tavern was far more 
sad and eventful than in either of my former 
homes. Not more than three hours in the twenty- 
four was I unhandled and uncorked. All of the re- 
maining time I was forced to witness scenes which 
were almost beyond my endurance, and too revolt- 
ing for any sensitive nature to behold. And yet 
all of this time I, yes, poor I, was compelled to be 


40 The Autobiography of a Bottle. 

one of the powers to push on this terrible tide of 
bitterness and death. 

At the corner tavern I had n'o cosey and clean shelf 
to stand upon. I was scarcely ever dry and warm. 
There was no elegant side-board against which I 
could lean, neither did I wear the bright and gilded 
label that I did at Mr. Strong’s. I was filled a doz- 
en times during the day, from a large demijohn 
that my owner called “Jersey Lightning.” My 
resting place was in a cold ice-box under the 
counter. I had plenty of companions, and many of 
them had been there much longer than myself. 
Whisky was the favorite beverage at this place, 
and therefore for a good portion of the time I was 
on the counter, and could plainly see all that was 
going on in the room. 

I have not time to describe many of the custom- 
ers, but here are a few who will perhaps be recog- 
nized by a few readers of this little book. Here 
came the well-dressed man who hastened from his 
lodgings early in the morning to the corner tavern 
for his morning bitters. Here came the common 
lounger who hung around the place, spending a few 
dimes each day, and ready for any talk “ on horse ” 
or “ the prize ring.” Here was also seen the regular 
loafer, who invariably goes through his tour, beg-' 


At the Corner Tavern. 


41 


ging his drinks, and never discouraged when he is 
refused. Here once in a while may be noticed a 
gang of common thieves who regularly visit such 
places to procure something to nerve them in their 
nefarious crimes. 

One evening there were two or three young men 
standing at the bar, when I overheard one of them 
say, “ Do you see that old man over in the corner 
taking his gin ? ” Each one turned his eye toward 
the object and nodded an affirmative. “ Well,” 

said the first speaker, “that man is Judge , 

and ten years ago he was considered the first 
lawyer in the city ; but he got to gambling, and 
was a great loser, and, of course, took to drink. 
That was enough ; he soon neglected his business, 
his family, and his friends, spending almost his 
entire time around the tavern.” I had frequently 
noticed the old man come into the saloon, go to 
the same place, and having taken out his snuff-box 
and laid it on the table, would call for a large glass 
of gin and water. I soon discovered that he was 
the same judge whom I knew at my gambling- 
house. I was not surprised at this result, for I 
have seen so many men of marked ability and 
scholarship gradually go down the social and moral 
scale until all was gone, and until even self-respect 


42 


The Autobiography of a Bottle . 


was bartered away for the price of one glass of rum. 
This old man, now a perfect wreck of his former 
self, would sit in the corner for hours drinking his 
favorite toddy and snuffing his favorite snuff. He 
would talk to himself for some minutes, but never 
to those who entered the saloon. I do not think 
he ever spoke a dozen words to the proprietor dur- 
ing the long time I was at the corner tavern. 

I remember that one day he was sitting in his 
accustomed place, with his glass of gin and snuff- 
box on the table, when suddenly he sprang from 
his seat, and with a loud oath exclaimed, “Yes, for 
years I have defended the greatest criminals of the 
land ; for years I have impartially administered 
justice, and now I have not moral courage sufficient 
to act the man and throw away this stuff which is 
fast killing my soul and body ! ” Oh, how true 
that sentence seemed to be. It is, without excep- 
tion, the greatest master that ever employed the 
lash. He is, indeed, a brave and grand fellow who 
throws off the shackles and becomes master of his 
appetite. If persons who know nothing of this 
terrible thirst would have more compassion on him 
who drinks, the life would not seem so hard. 

The trade at my corner tavern was not confined 
to any particular class of people. It is true that 


At the Corner Tavern. 


43 


my proprietor smiled a little more graciously when 
he waited upon a person who was more fashionably 
dressed than the average run of visitors, and he 
was always willing to converse with such persons, 
presuming that they had well-filled pocket-books. 
I have known him to become so interested in a 
stranger of this character that, in less than half an 
hour, one would suppose them to be life-long 
friends. During all this time the proprietor would 
treat, and then the stranger would return the com- 
pliment (?), until finally the latter would become 
so stupefied that he would sink back into a chair 
and would soon be fast asleep. When he awoke, he 
would find a portion of his money gone, but was 
prevailed upon to believe that he had spent it in 
treating ; and again, many of these people would 
prefer to lose a good amount rather than to have 
it known that they had been such consummate 
fools. 

Many and many instances of this kind have I 
seen while living at my old corner. But when this 
cold-hearted owner saw a poor, miserable, stagger- 
ing drunkard approach the counter and lay down 
his last five cents, there would be no smile or pleas- 
ant welcome, but the liquor-seller would pour out 
the dram, and as soon as the outcast had swallowed 
it, he was bidden to “ clear out.” 


44 


The Autobiography of a Bottle . 


Disturbances of a serious character also fre- 
quently occurred at my corner tavern. Bloody 
heads and bruised bodies were not unfrequent 
sights to me. Many a poor fellow have I seen 
come into this tavern on a Saturday night with his 
entire week’s wages in his pocket,, every cent of 
which was required to support his family, and here 
have I seen him remain until the very last cent had 
gone for drink or had been taken from his pockets. 
After drinking the first two or three glasses of 
poison, he would insist on treating every worthless 
loafer who entered that saloon. Instead of the 
proprietor refusing to give him more, and send- 
ing him home, he would urge him,- with all his 
polite insinuations, to spend more and more, until 
he had clutched the last penny, and then would 
kick the poor unfortunate into the street, from 
whence he would be taken to the police-station by 
the faithful officers, who are generally lounging 
around such corners waiting to engage in some 
such gallant exploit as this. 

Frequently have I heard a wife or mother enter 
my saloon and implore the proprietor not to sell 
her husband or son any more liquor; and then 
these poor, lonely broken hearts would more than 
bleed by the profane and vulgar insults that they 
received. 


At the Corner Tavern. 


45 


And then again, many of the proprietors of 
these corner taverns are as cold-hearted as the very 
pavements. I have seen a poor trembling soul 
enter my home on a cold frosty morning and beg 
(as only a drunkard can) for one drink of liquor to 
steady his shaking nerves or to warm his freezing 
body. “Away with you!” is the only reply he 
receives ; and yet that poor drunkard has perhaps 
spent hundreds of dollars in this same place. 
Watches, rings, pins, canes, umbrellas, and even 
coats have been deposited with my avaricious 
owner as pledges for drink. In some instances 
they were redeemed, but in the majority of cases 
the accounts would increase in such rapid propor- 
tion that they became too large for settlement, and, 
as a matter of course, the property was sacrificed 
at one-tenth of its value, and all for drink. “ Any- 
thing for a drink,” is the cry of the poor drunkard ; 
and this strange, terrible thirst will force a poor 
irresolute soul to sacrifice anything and everything 
to satisfy for a moment its terrible, gnawing desire. 

And what can I say of the Sundays spent at the 
corner tavern ? It was nearly the same as on any 
day of the week. It is true that there was a city 
ordinance which prohibited the opening of taverns 
on the Lord’s day. The policemen knew of the 


46 


The Autobiography of a Bottle. 


laws, but then my owner furnished them with their 
drams, and frequently gave them what he called 
“ hush money. ” There was a back entrance to our 
tavern, and through this door there used to con- 
gregate on every Sunday, a class of persons who 
would spend the entire day in drinking and playing 
cards. Never while I was at this place, did I hear 
my owner speak of sacred things except with an 
oath, or in sarcasm, and never did I see him exhibit 
any of those feelings of charity and good will which 
I have frequently noticed in many of his poor, de- 
graded customers. All he seemed to desire was 
money, and for this he was willing to break every 
one of the ten commandments, and sacrifice every 
principle of honor and truth. Money was the 
shrine at which he worshipped, and everything else 
was forgotten or ignored. 

On a pleasant Sunday afternoon, after I had been 
there three months, who should enter the place but 
my dear friend Edward, but oh, what a change there 
was in that young man. His face was very 
much bloated, and large blotches sadly disfig- 
ured his once clear visage. He looked as if he 
had been on a terrible debauch, and his own words 
confirmed my suspicion. He came tottering up to 
the bar, and said, “Tim, I haven’t a cent, will you 


At the Corner Tavern. 


4 7 


trust me for a drink?” “Ned, I can’t trust you 
again, but I suppose I can give you a drink.” 

The old familiar bottle that he had handled so 
many times was again reached. He did not know me, 
but I knew him, and I felt that I had in a measure 
contributed toward his terrible downfall. He 
nervously seized me, and poured out nearly a tum- 
bler full of poison, (not the “pure old Bourbon” of 
an olden day) and drank it with a keen, but sicken- 
ing relish. 

“ I am going home now,” said Edward. “ I am 
sick and can’t live long. I think this will be my 
last drink, Tim, but I was obliged to take this to 
straighten my nerves when I meet my mother.” 
As he said this I could see that all of his love and 
natural feelings of the child had not disappear- 
ed. He said that he “did not know as the old man 
would let him into the house, but I guess mother 
will let in poor old Ned to die.” 

Yes, that dear name mother has a wonderful 
charm over the heart of the most forsaken drunk- 
ard. When all else seems cold and unmeaning, the 
name of mother will arouse the tenderest feelings 
in the most depraved heart. I have seen many 
scenes of this kind, and I could tell many a pa- 
thetic story of a mother’s love. I have seen that 


48 The Autobiography of a Bottle . 

sweet, calm, gentle forgiveness given to the son 
over and over again. The mother’s love is always 
true, and she is ever happy as she ministers to her 
boy’s wants in his terrible sickness and delirium. 
I have heard the sweet prayers of the mother in 
which she implored God to restore the son to health, 
feeling sure that he would never drink again. Oh ! 
the mother’s faith is wonderful and most blessed. 
I have heard the mother fall on her knees and 
thank her heavenly Father, as she saw the least ray 
of hope in the symptoms of her darling boy. Yes, 
yes, that word mother seems to me to be more holy 
than any earthly name, and why any one can for a 
moment wound a mother’s trusting, loving heart, is 
more than I can explain. 

Ned told my owner that he had been to Phila- 
delphia and Baltimore, had spent all of his money on 
one great spree, and had been obliged to pawn all 
of his things in order to get home, and again said 
that he was going home to die. With this sad 
story, and a sad good-bye, he left the tavern, and 
the next time I saw him was under very differ- 
ent circumstances. 


CHAPTER VII. 


ANOTHER CHANGE. 

On the very evening that Edward left my place, 
I also bade good-bye to the corner tavern, but in- 
stead of bidding farewell to the terrible scenes that 
I had witnessed, I was only taken to another place 
where the stories of want, and suffering, and sin 
were more sad, and the daily and nightly scenes 
were more revolting. 

About eight o’clock on this Sunday night, a 
party of young men drove up to the tavern, and 
after alighting, entered the saloon and called for 
several drinks. Having imbibed rather freely, one 
of them said that they were “ going to see the 
sights, and wanted a bottle of good whisky, as they 
were afraid to drink the stuff at some places.” I 
was at once taken from under the counter, filled and 
handed over to the party who were spending God’s 
day in such a profane manner. It was refreshing 
to once more get into the cool air, and I did not 
care where I was taken, for I had become disgusted 

(49 


50 The Autobiography of a Bottle. 

with myself, and gladly would I have permitted 
them to throw me out on the hard pavements, for 
then my life which had been so sad, would have 
been ended. But such was not to be my fate ; an- 
other page in the drama of the rum-seller and the 
drunkard must be seen, and other sights not yet re- 
corded must be enacted, ere I had completed my 
mission. 

We were soon in the hack. I was safely tucked 
away under the cushions and the driver was told to 
go hither and thither, wherever the most exciting 
sights could be witnessed. We traveled over the city 
nearly all night, stopping at brilliant lighted saloons, 
gambling-hells, and other dens of infamy. I was ad- 
mitted to but two of these places. One was at a 
saloon where I was re-filled, and the other was at 
one of the lowest drinking dens in the city. I was 
taken into the latter place because the party were 
afraid to drink of the drug sold behind the bar. 

What a place this was! I had seen drunkenness 
and sin in many of its terrible aspects, but this den 
of corruption and wickedness surpassed all that I 
could imagine. 

I heard the oaths, the vulgar jests and coarse 
laughter, long before I had fairly entered the room. 
We were obliged to go down-stairs, into the base- 


Another Change. 


51 


ment of the building. In this room there were 
twenty or thirty people of both sexes, drinking, 
smoking, and cursing. In order to have a seat in 
this den, my companions thought they must spend 
some money at the bar, hence they purchased 
cigars which I am sure they did not consume by 
smoking. We should not have learned one-half of 
the sad features that surrounded this den, had 
there not been a policeman present who was ac- 
quainted with one of our party, and from him we 
learned many particulars of a most distressing 
nature. 

As I have said before, the room was well filled 
with a most loathsome and degraded class of men 
and women. 

Nearly every one of these persons had seen far 
better days. Our policeman pointed out two or 
three men who had become distinguished at the 
bar, in military circles, and even the pulpit, who 
were together talking in a most confidential man- 
ner. They were scantily clothed, and their whole 
appearance told the story of their terrible dissipa- 
tion. Could it be that these men had so far re- 
gained their consciousness, that they were telling 
the stories of their better days, of their successes 
and triumphs, and then contrasting their present 


52 The Autobiography of a Bottle. 

state of worthlessness ? Oh, how I trembled as I 
looked upon those men, and said to myself that 
those objects were created in the image of God, 
and had been endowed with all the natural abili- 
ties of a man, and had become the brute through 
the passion of strong drink. Turning from these 
men, our attention was called to a woman tottering 
up to the bar and begging for a drink. The police- 
man told us that this woman was, a few years ago, 
one of the most beautiful women in the city. By 
birth she was from the best families of the land. 
She was graduated from one of the most fashiona- 
ble and prosperous institutions in the State. She 
was courted and flattered by all. Every night she 
was the center of a gay and reckless party. Her 
whole being and thoughts were enwrapped in the 
most intense excitement. Ere long, however, she 
found that her strength was not sufficient to sus- 
tain the great strain upon her physical health, and 
she soon resorted to stimulants as the great re- 
storer. As soon as the first fatal drop was taken, 
her terrible future was doomed. It did not take 
long before her love for liquor was stronger than 
home and family, and but a few years longer before 
she was an outcast and a wanderer on the earth. 
These dens were her lodging-places, and the coarse, 


A?iother Change. 


53 


vulgar men whom we saw this night were her boon 
companions. There this woman stood barefooted ; 
the once beautiful hair dishevelled and hanging 
over her shoulders, face and hands smeared with 
dirt, and in all respects a plain example of the 
female drunkard. There she stood before the bar, 
talking and laughing, aye, and cursing with the 
men, almost forcing every new comer to treat, and 
swallowing the worst of liquors with the keenest 
relish. Oh, what a dreadful sight this was, but as 
one of the party expressed his surprise at this in- 
cident, the policeman smiled and said that there 
were hundreds of cases in this city which carried 
with them the same sad story. He also said that 
there was many a drug store and confectioner’s es- 
tablishment where soda was sold, that were the nur- 
series of the saloons and dens of infamy. At these 
drug stores and soda fountains could be seen at 
almost every hour in the day, women who move in 
the “ upper crust ” of society, taking their brandy 
and soda, sherry and soda, eggnog, and Roman 
punches. He opened our eyes when he told us of 
“ regular places ” that were frequented by such 
ladies, and that these “ places ” were millinery es- 
tablishments and at the mantua-maker’s. 

During our stay at this place, a woman came into 


54 The Autobiography of a Bottle. 

the room leading a little child who was crying bit- 
terly, and taking from her pocket a small phial 
asked for ten cents’ worth of gin. She disappeared, 
just as a little girl came stumbling in on the same 
errand. She wanted ten cents’ worth of the poison 
for ma. My companions’ curiosity was now satis- 
fied, and having emptied the contents of my poor 
old self, they departed leaving me on the table 
amid the vile conglomeration of nature’s outcasts. 
The proprietor soon had me behind his counter, 
but was too busy to fill me at this time. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


DEATH. 

The next morning I was taken up by my new 
owner and filled with the vilest stuff that had 
ever been put to my mouth. I could do nothing, 
but how I managed to escape being broken in the 
many fights which I saw, is more than I can tell. 
The same kind of dens exist to-day, and if any one 
does not believe what I am saying, ask a policeman 
to take you to one of these places, and you will 
soon be convinced that all is true. 

I had been in this place about two weeks, 
when late one night who should come staggering 
in but my old and dear friend Edward. Of all the 
wrecks that I had ever seen, I think he was the 
worst. Oh, how my heart bled for the poor man. 
I at once thought of his father and mother, and of 
his own soul. I wanted to learn more about him, 
and to ascertain the reason why he did not “ go 
home and die ” as he said ; and soon my desire was 
gratified. As soon as he had sunk into a chair, 

( 55 ) 


56 The Autobiography of a Bottle. 

more from exhaustion than from the effects of 
liquor, the wife of my proprietor, who was then 
waiting on customers, approached him, and with 
an earnest and honest manner said, “ Why, Ned, I 
heard that you had reformed, and was once more 
in business.” 

“ Yes,” he said, “ I was sick for nearly six months, 
and my mother did everything for me that she 
could. I recovered, and took the pledge, and 
swore that I would never drink again. My father 
secured a place in another business, and I got along 
first rate, until one day I was tempted to take just 
one drink. I did not think that one glass of beer 
would hurt me, but the moment that I swallowed 
that glass, it seemed that a thousand demons were 
let loose, and I could no more control my appetite 
than I could fly. After that fatal drink, it did not 
take long to bring me to this fix. I have spent 
all the money I had, which was a good round sum. 
I have sold all of my clothes, jewelry, and every- 
thing by which I could raise a . dime. It has. all 
gone for drink, and what is the use of talking ; it 
is all over, and I am obliged now to have drink, for 
I am kept alive by it. I shall soon go, and I reckon 
the sooner the better. He had all this while been 
clutching a half dollar, and throwing it on the 


Death. 


57 


table, asked the woman to give him fifty cents’ 
worth of whisky. She remonstrated with him for 
a moment, but he said, “ if you don’t let me have 
it, I can get it at the next gin-mill and rather 
than to lose that fifty cents, she went behind the 
bar, and taking me up, partly filled me, and gave me 
to the poor, poor man. He then begged a drink 
from the woman. He tucked me under his old 
coat, but how differently I felt from that afternoon 
when I accompanied him on that sleigh-ride. How 
little did I dream that I should meet him under 
these circumstances. 

Having been here for an hour, he took a long drink 
from the bottle, and bidding the woman good night 
staggered out into the street. It was a bitter cold 
night, and Edward said to himself, “ I will go up 
the next alley and try to find a place to sleep.” 
He did so, and in the corner of an old shed he 
threw himself. He took another and another drink, 
and finally with a groan stretched himself out, and 
was as I thought soon asleep. 

But no ! He was suffering with illness and yet 
too weak to make his condition known. For two or 
three hours he lay there, and no one came to his 
assistance. Just as daylight dawned a policeman 
came along, and hearing a stifled groan, came to 


58 The Autobiography of a Bottle. 

where poor Ned wa: lying. The policeman gave 
my friend a rough kick, and told him to u get out 
of there.” A groan was the only reply. Another 
and another blow was given and received, but only 
groans were given in reply. It soon became evi- 
dent to the officer that something besides drunken- 
ness was the matter with my friend. He then 
withdrew, and soon returned with another officer, 
and they lifted him upon their shoulders and car- 
ried him to the station-house near. They laid him 
on the floor, loosened his tattered garments, rub- 
bed his limbs, but the poor fellow gave but slight 
signs of consciousness. 

The old black bottle was taken from his pocket 
and placed on a shelf, and a physician was sent for. 
As soon as the latter made his appearance he recog- 
nized his patient, and sent word for Edward’s fath- 
er to hasten to the station if he wanted to see his 
boy alive. 

Ere long Mr. Strong arrived, and the scene which 
took place in that station was one that none can 
describe. 

“ Speak to me once. Let me know that you 
recognize me. Oh, Edward, speak just once.” It 
seemed as if that father’s prayer was answered, for 
slowly the young man opened his eyes, stared at 


Death. 


59 


his father who was still kneeling at his side, and 
softly whispered, “ forgive me, mother, mother,” and 
then I heard a sigh, and the physician exclaimed 
“ it is all over. He is dead.” 

The body was removed to the lonely home, but 
that was the last I ever heard of my friends. That 
morning was the last time that I have seen the 
light of day, for an hour after the death of my 
friend, I was carried down into a damp cellar under 
the station-house, and thrown into a pile of rubbish, 
where I remain always thinking of my sad life, and 
always wishing that I might go out into the world 
•and tell my experience by my voice, instead of 
sending forth my experience in these few pages. 
There is nothing unreal in this description of a 
drunkard’s life, nor in this picture of the curse of 
strong drink, and if only one person will profit by 
these words, the old black bottle will at least have 
done some good in the world. 






THE GIN-SHOP. 




. The Gin-Shop. 



These are the Drinks that are sold night and day 
At the bar of the Gin-shop, so glittering and gay. 




The Gin-Shop. 5 



These are the Customers, youthful and old, 

That drink the strong drinks which are sold night and day 
At the bar of the Gin-shop, so glittering and gay. 



6 The Gin-Shop. 


This is the Landlord who coins his bright gold 
Out of the ruin of youthful and old, 

Who drink the strong liquors he sells night and day 
At the bar of the Gin-shop, so glittering and gay. 



The Gin-Shop. 


This is the Lady , all jewels and lace, 

The wife of the landlord who coins his bright gold 
Out of the ruin of youthful and old, 

Who drink the strong liquors he sells night and day 
At the bar of the Gin-shop, so glittering and gay. 


8 The Gin-Shop. 



This is the Drunkard , in rags and disgrace, 

Who is served by the lady, all jewels and lace, 

The wi e of the landlord who coins his bright gold 
Out of the ruin of youthful and old, 

Who drink the strong liquors he sells night and day 
At the bar of the Gin-shop, so glittering and gay. 


The Gin-Shop. 


9 



This is the Woman , with woe-begone face, 

The wife of the drunkard, in rags and disgrace, 
Who is served by the lady, all jewels and lace, 

The wife of the landlord who coins his bright gold 
Out of the ruin of youthful and old, 

Who drink the strong liquors he sells night and day 
At the bar of the Gin-shop, so glittering and gay. 


io The Gin-Shop. 



This is the Pastor , so noble and kind, 

Who pitied the woman, with woe-begone face, 

And the husband, the drunkard, in rags and disgrace, 
Who is served by the lady, all jewels and lace, 
i The wife of the landlord who coins his bright gold 
Out of the ruin of youthful and old, 

Who drink the strong liquors he sells night and day 
At the bar of the Gin-shop, so glittering and gay. 



The Gin-Shop. 


T his is the Pledge the poor drunkard signed, 

Which was brought by the pastor, so noble and kind, 
Who pitied the woman, with woe-begone face, 

And her husband, the drunkard, in rags and disgrace, 
Who was served by the woman, all jewels and lace, 
The wife of the landlord who coins his bright gold 
Out of the ruin of youthful and old, 

Who drink the strong liquors he sells night and day 
At the bar of the Gin-shop, so glittering and gay. 



The Gin-Shop. 


This is the Church , to which, one Sabbath-day, 

The once wretched drunkard and wife took their way, 
Drawn there by the pastor, so loving and kind, 

Who brought him the pledge which he joyfully signed; 
The pastor who pitied the woman’s sad face, 

And her husband, the drunkard, in rags and disgrace, 
Who was served by the lady, all jewels and lace, 

The wife of the landlord who coins his bright gold 
Out of the ruin of youthful and old, 

Who drink the strong liquors he sells night and day 
At the bar of the Gin-shop, so glittering and gay. 


The Gin-Shop. 1 3 



This is the Text which the good pastor chose, 

When the light on the soul of the drunkard arose, 

As he sat in the church to which, one Sabbath-day, 
Along with his wife he had taken his way, 

Drawn there by the pastor, so loving and kind, 

Who brought him the pledge which he joyfully signed ; 
The pastor who pited the woman’s sad face, 

And her husband, the drunkard, in rags and disgrace, 
Who was served by the lady, all jewels and lace, 

The wife of the landlord who coins his bright gold 
Out of the ruin of youthful and old, 

Who drink the strong liquors he sells night and day 
At the bar of the Gin-shop, so glittering and gay. 


14 The Gin-Shop. 



This is the Cottage , the home of delight, 

Whence prayer, like an incense, ascends day and night, 
Where joy and contentment sit smiling so bright, — 
Whence came this glad home where such comforts unite ? 
From the heaven-blest text which the good pastor chose, 
When light on the soul of the drunkard arose, 

As he sat in the church, to which each Sabbath-day, 

His wife and he, happy at heart, take their way, 

Drawn there by the pastor, so noble and kind, 

Who brought him the pledge which he joyfully signed ; 
The pastor who pited the woman’s sad face, 

And her husband, the drunkard, in rags and disgrace, 
Who was served by the lady, all jewels and lace, 

The wife of the landlord who coins his bright gold 
| Out of the ruin of youthful and old. 

Who drink the strong liquors he sells night and day 
At the bar of the Gin-shop, so glittering and gay. 


“ THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A BOTTLE.” 

The National Temperance Society has just 
published a very interesting pamphlet, “ The 
Autobiography of a Bottle,” by Rev. B. F. 
Hutchins, and with it “ The Gin-Shop,” illustrat- 
ed by George Cruikshank. The story of the 
bottle is admirably told, and teaches a most va- 
luable lesson, especially for young men. “ The 
Gin-Shop,” as illustrated by the master-hand of 
Cruikshank, is an “ object lesson ” which cannot 
fail to exert a powerful influence against the li- 
quor-traffic. This pamphlet will be a valuable 
campaign document, and merits the widest pos- 
sible circulation. Price ten cents. 

Address J. N. Stearns, Publishing Agent, 58 
Reade Street, New York. 






READINGS AND RECITATIONS 


♦4 


The National Temperance Society publish the following valuable col- 
lection cf Readings and Recitations, Declamations and Dialogues, both in 
prose and verse Adapted to all Temperance Organizations, Sunday-schools, 
Lodges, Divisions, Woman’s Unions, Parlor Readings and Entertainments, 
Bands of Hope, etc., etc. 

Readings and Recitations. No. I . By Miss l. Penney. 

i2mo, 96 pages. Cloth, 60 cents ; paper cover, .... ,25 

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Containing over sixty new selections— every one a gem— and sufficient for sixty 
entertainments. 

Readings and Recitations. No. 3. 96 pages. By 

Miss L. Penney. Cloth, 60 cents ; paper cover, .... .25 

The favor with which Nos. 1 and 2 were received and the repeated calls for another 
bus resulted in tbe preparation of No. 3, with many original articles from first-class 
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Readings and Recitations. No. 4. i2mo, 120 pages. 

By Miss L. Penney. Cloth, 60 cents ; paper cover, ... .25 

Thi9 is an entirely new collection, many of tbe pieces being written expressly 
for this work, and contains articles and selections from the following among others: 
Edward Carswell, Mrs. J. Ellen Foster, John B. Gough, Mrs. Nellie H. Bradley, Rev. 

J. O. Peck, Mrs. Mary T. Latlirap, George W. Bain, Miss Frances E. Willard. Dr. 
Richardson, John G. Whittier, Bishop Fallows, Robert Southey, Mrs J. P. Ballard. 

Alfred Tennyson, Josephine Pollard, Rev. John Pierpont, Rev. Geo. Lansing Taylor, 

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Edited by Miss L. Penney, 1.00 

The book contains fifty-three excellent prose articles, ninety choice poems, and a 
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The Temperance Speaker. By J, N. Stearns, Price 

reduced. Cloth, 50 cents ; paper cover, 25 

This book contains 28S pages of declamations and dialogues, suitable for Sunday 
Rnd Hay Schools, Bands of Hopes, and Temperance Organizations. It consists of 
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Juvenile Temperance Reciter. i2mo, 64 pages, - - .10 

A new and valuable collection of 6fi Recitations and Declamations in Prose and 
Verse, for use in Sunday-schools, Bands of Hope, and other children’s organizations; 
written by some of the best writers in the land. 

The Sunday-School Concert. i6mo, 224 pages. Cloth, 

50 cents ; paper, - - - - .25 

Containing twenty six concert exercises and dialogues, suitable for Temperance 
rp&'olxatriins. Sunday-schools, Reform Clubs, etc., etc. 

J. N. STEARNS, Publishing: Agent, 

58 Reade Street, New Y'*ki&. 


National Temperance Society. 

H 


Hon. WM. E. DODGE, WM. D. PORTER, J. N. STEARNS, 

President Treasurer. Cor. Sec. and Pub. Agent. 

T HE NATIONAL TEMPERANCE SOCIETY, organized in ISM for the purpose of sup- 
plying a eouul and able temperance literature, nave already stereotyped and published 
over one thousand publications of all sorts and sizes, from the one-page tract up to the 
bound volume of 1,000 pages. This list comprises books, tracts, and pamphlets, containing 
essays, stories, sermons, argument, statistics, history, etc., upon every phase of the ques- 
1 tion. Special attention has been given to the department 


FOR SUNDAY-SCHOOL LIBRARIES. 

One hundred and nineteen volumes have already been issued, written by some of tbo best 
a.ithors in the land. These have been carefully examined and approved by the Publication 
Committee ol' the Society, representing the various religious denominations and temperance 
organizations of the country, which consists of the following members: 


PETER CARTER, 

Rev. W. T. SABINE, 

A. A. ROBBINS, 

Rev. HALSEY MOORE, 


Rev. A. G. LAWSON, 

T. A. BROUWER, 

D. C. EDDY, D.D., 

J. B. DUNN, D.D. 

Rev. ALFRED TAYLOR, 


A. D. VAIL, D.D., 
R. R. SINCLAIR, 
JAMES BLACK, 

J. N. STEARNS. 


The volumes have been cordially recommended by leading clergymen of all denominations 
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Sunset on Iflouut Blanc. By Mrs. M. F. Martin. i2mo, 

456 pages Si 50 

Mabel’s Work. By Mrs. S. M. I. Henry. i2mo, 468 pages... 1 50 
Voice of*the Home (The). By Mrs. S. M. I. Henry. i2mo, 

405 pages I 25 

Her Inheritance. By Laurie Loring. i2mo, 352 pages I 25 | 

I.osl Estate (Tlic). By Mrs. J. P. Ballard. i2mo, 218 pages.. 1 OO 
Rex Ringgold's School. By Rev. Pliny Steele Boyd. i2mo, 

399 pages 1 25 

Prince of Good Fellows (The). By Margaret E. Wilmer. 

i2mo, 367 pages 1 25 

Secret of Victory. By Miss M. E. Winslow. i2mo, 170 pages. 75 

Eittlc Blue Jacket* By M. A. Pauli. i2mo, 212 pages 75 

Otir Homes. By Mary Dwinell Chellis. i2rrio, 426 pages I 50 

Rose Clifton. By Mrs. E. J. Richmond. i2mo, 426 pages 1 50 

Over the Way. By Mrs. H. J. Moore. i2mo, 213 pages I OO 

White Hamls and WTiite Hearts. By Ernest Gilmore. 

i2mo, 278 pages 1 OO 

Amid the Shadows. By Mrs. M. F.' Martin. i2mo, 412 pages. 1 25 
bought and Saved. By Miss M. A. Pauli. i2mo, 396 pages.. 1 25 
Consecrated. By Ernest Gilmore. i2mo, 434 pages 1 50 


Oread and Beer. By Mary D. Chellis. i2mo, 381 pages. ... 1 25 

The Brewer’s Fortune. By Mary Dwinell Chellis. 425 pp. 1 50 
81 is Honor the Mayor. By Helen E. Chapman. 395 pages.. 1 25 
From Father to Sou. By Mary Dwinell Chellis. 420 pages.. I 25 
The Pledge and the Cross. By Mrs. S. M. I. Henry. 2-;6 pp. 1 OO 


Alice Crniil. By Mrs. E. J Richmond. i2mo, 352 pages I 25 

The Queer Home in Rugby Court. By Miss Annette L. 

Noble. i2mo, 45 pages I 50 

No Banger. By Muy J. Hedges. i2mo, 360 pages I 25 


Address J. N. STEARNS, Publishing; Agent, 
5cS’ Reade Street , New York Citij. 



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